


Life in Transition

by black_moral



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Reincarnation, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_moral/pseuds/black_moral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's POV. Arthur recalls his struggles upon reawakening in a time after Camelot, and finally realizing that after years of believing that he was alone in this world, that he really never was alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life in Transition

**Author's Note:**

> My first Merlin fanfiction! I didn't beta it so if there are any mistakes please let me know. This was written for my lovely [Gavin](http://hoontastic.tumblr.com) who was having a bad day with attempts to cheer him up. It's all thanks to him that I got into Merlin in the first place. He is my inspiration. :D

From the very beginning it had been a struggle.

 

It was first coming to terms that everything I knew was no longer there. Well, almost everything… Camelot was gone. As was Guinevere, Gaius, my knights and friends—my only ties to a time that was happened to be Merlin. Merlin, who walked the earth for centuries, living a multitude of lifetimes with a hope that he would spot me in a different form, always returned back to the shores of Avalon to sit and wait for the day that I would surface. The day that I woke up and struggled with my first breaths, he was in the water holding me up, yelling my name, telling me to breathe. I did, and warmth flooded through me, the instincts of survival forcing a stiff body to move and swim until I felt the mud between my toes and fingers. A chill swept through me briefly, but he draped a blanket over my naked body and watched for a time as if wondering if he had dreamed this entire moment. I too wondered if I was dreaming as well.

 

I refused to believe anything at first. To this day I wonder how Merlin ever put up with me. I fought him on every level, even when there was no denying that times were different. I wanted nothing to do with him, even going so far as to blaming him for the fact that I was now more alone than ever. At least back in Camelot, I could easily forget. The responsibilities of upholding a kingdom, being with the woman I loved, and training recruits for knighthood filled my mind enough to keep it from wandering. And during the times that my mind had the chance, it was quickly imprisoned by a goblet or several of wine with a game or two with my knights and friends alike. Where I was now, there was none of that—well, there _was_ a healthy dose of a variety of wines that I had turned to. Drunken stupors day in and day out, and Merlin was only trying his hardest to seek what was familiar to offer me a touch of comfort, but it became a dependence that blackened my consciousness just enough to forget. And when I couldn’t forget, Merlin was the target of several abuses that I wish I could take back now. How many times I must have broken his heart… and probably other parts of his body in my uncontrollable rage. How many times did he leave me so that I could drown myself in another bottle of wine, only for him to return in order to drape a blanket over my body and settle beside me to reassure my safety throughout the night?

 

Only he could tell you.

 

I can’t tell how long it took for the first breakdown. It was after another fight with Merlin, who said… _something_ … I don’t even remember. All I know was that it triggered firestorm of emotions which had turned a rare moment of peace between us into a shouting fest that had me shoving him away and me storming off. I wasn’t even certain where I was going, my feet carrying me away from my servant as fast as possible because I couldn’t bear to be near him. He was the source of my pain, reminding me of all that I had lost and him being all that I had left. And it never came to me just how important he was to me in that time. It also never came to me that he too, was suffering, perhaps even more than I was. I only cared about my own never ending mourning and sadness that I just could not let out. It was still imprinted heavily on my mind and soul that as King, I had no luxury to cry. As King, I had no rights to weakness. And even if I had to drown myself beneath an ocean of wine to maintain such a front, then so be it.

 

It had been nightfall, the wind sending a chill through my body. I was in this modern garb—a t-shirt, jeans and sneakers—that Merlin had picked out for me. It wasn’t enough warmth, and I held myself as I sat by a tree watching the waning population of people walk along the path of this place known as a park. The skies were clear, yet I could barely see stars with the numerous lights that kept this location alive. I was able to catch sight of the moon slightly cloaked in clouds, though. That was a moment where I felt the full weight of loneliness wash over me and I finally felt the tears sting my eyes. I was barely able to see the silhouette of a breathless Merlin before me when I could no longer hold back and I curled into myself to cry. And Merlin held me despite everything that I had put him through. I sunk into the arms he wrapped around me, and I could feel the tremble of his body as he cried too. It was how we stayed for the longest of times, even after the tears had dried up. For the first time in my new life, I didn’t feel alone. It was a relief that I could never put into proper words.

 

This wouldn’t be my first breakdown either. There was several more, each one just as powerful as the last. Each one I was within the safety of Merlin’s arms, which made these moments less mortifying as they should have been. It was as if he removed the proverbial crown from my head, disrobed my cloak and allowed me to be a human as anyone else. I could cry without ridicule, without judgment or a declaration of weakness. He never said anything, never looked at me with pity in his eyes; he only remained there as ever a loyal servant as he was.

 

Our relationship began its transformation once I finally found it was okay to feel. My drunken binges lessened in favor of actually speaking my thoughts. If one thought that having Merlin as your constant companion must have become tiring, it was completely the opposite. We had a mutual exchange; when I told him of my thoughts and concerns, he did the same. To add to that, he spoke stories of his lifetimes, having encountered versions of our loved ones throughout the expanse of time. He even told me how he hoped he would encounter me in the same manner, but never did and instead returned to Avalon to wait. A thousand years, he told me… that was how long the wait was, or at least that’s how it felt. It could have been more, could have been less, but he never wavered in his hopes that he would see me again one day.

 

“I found Gwaine once as the keeper of a saloon—it was the 1800s version of a tavern,” he explained with a faint smile with a glitter of amusement in his eyes. He had explained how there were so many lands in this world. Where he found Gwaine was in this country called the United States of America, out in the western part of the country. “The atmosphere was just as Camelot’s taverns: rowdy, loud, everyone getting drunk and playing games. Except many of them wore these strange hats, and they called themselves cowboys. Gwaine was still Gwaine; he always had an arm around a woman’s waist and he challenged many a man to a drink or two.”

 

Not all of Merlin’s encounters with the rebirths of friends were as amusing or pleasant, though. There was one of which he had difficulty in talking about, and even when I told him he didn’t need to continue, seeing tears in his eyes, he pushed forth in explaining. It was in the same country, except much prior to the country becoming what it was currently. “The Salem Witch Trials,” he spoke in barely a whisper. The night he had talked about it was especially chilly, and we had blankets around ourselves in this tiny apartment that Merlin had managed to secure long ago. There was heat; however there were also drafts due to the old windows that allowed the chill to seep in. When Merlin spoke this story as well, the air felt even colder. “It was like when your father hunted down every person who had any association with sorcery. The only difference was that it was known as witchcraft to these people. I saw many innocent people—men, women, children…they were either burned at the stake, hung, or in one case a man was crushed to death by stones. He was to admit his links to witchcraft, which he never did. Either way, he died a slow and painful death.” He had gone silent in that moment, swallowing a lump in his throat, and it was after that did he croak out, “Morgana had been one of those who were punished…” He never told me how, but with seeing how haunted his eyes looked, I could only imagine what had happened. Even with how she became an enemy to us in the end, Morgana still held a special place in my heart.

 

From Lancelot being a buccaneer in the 1600s—in which Merlin got to sail with him along the Caribbean—to Percival being a doctor in England in the 1900s, it seemed my knights never lived idle lives after Camelot’s times. Leon was alive in this current day, a freelance photographer living in London. Merlin had seen him a few times, and even spoken to him once or twice. “None of them remember their pasts as knights,” Merlin told me one day as we sat in a coffee shop watching people walk by outside. “But talking to them was just time never passed between us. The only difference was the time and the topics, but each one of them the same as ever.”

 

He had yet to encounter Gaius, though I was certain I had caught a glimpse of him on occasion whenever I took a walk on my own. By then, I had been alive for a few years, and had grown used to the noise and modernity of this time period. Cars had replaced horses, and mobile phones took the position that handwritten letters once upheld. In a time where jesters and entertainers performed before you, there were these things called televisions. Electricity lit up a room now instead of torches, and while you could easily settle down for a bath, you could also experience the very nature of rain pouring warmth over you in the means of a shower. I am still preferable to a bath, though. Except after I got used to the mechanics of it, Merlin doesn’t need to prepare it for me anymore.

 

It was a warm sunny day the fifth year of my return to this world. Merlin and I had decided to make a return to Avalon’s shores with a packed lunch in tow. We settled not far from the waters, the two of us watching the reflection of the sun wavering along the water. It was so different here compared to the city; it was much more quiet and peaceful, and reminiscent of how life was back in Camelot. For that very reason it was also difficult to be here. Even amidst the peace, I was recalling my final breaths, and Merlin was remembering when I shut my eyes for the last time. It was solemn, and then Merlin decided that it was a time for another story. This time it was about when he encountered Guinevere.

 

“She was a nurse during the Revolutionary War,” he began. “She was brave, strong, and resilient but still elegant and simple. I had been wounded in one of the many battles myself, and she risked her very life along with others to lift me from the battlegrounds and into the tents where many were being treated.” Merlin always told me that in order not to stand out in his encounters during the various time periods, he dressed himself to blend in as properly as possible. This had been no different, assuming the role of a soldier. “The pain was great, but she was able to comfort me. I instantly thought of her back in Camelot, and I probably called her name out, I’m not sure. I do remember her looking surprised, but she worked diligently to heal me. I was transferred from the battlegrounds elsewhere after that, and I never saw her again. I haven’t an idea if she herself survived or not during that time. But Gwen was…well… she was Gwen.” He smiled sadly, and looked up at me.

 

“I miss her,” I admitted to him in that moment. “I mean, I miss…everyone. But Guinevere…she was always my Queen, even when she wore rags and had broken nails. She never let her circumstances take her down. Whether it was the life she was given, or the mistakes she made, she pushed through them and kept living her life to the fullest.”

 

“And she kept that up after you died, as well,” Merlin said, which caught my attention. “She knew what she had to do, couldn’t let your death take her nor Camelot down. She took on the responsibilities of the kingdom singlehandedly, maintained peace. She ultimately made the choice to move on, remarry, bear an heir, but…she never stopped loving you. I stayed by her side until she died. She was happy in a sense that perhaps she’d be able to see you again.” A long silence followed, and I watched Merlin look down as he twisted his shirt between his fingers. I wanted to say something in that moment, but before I could open my mouth, he added. “…and maybe she will.” He looked up and our gazes met with such discomfort, but I couldn’t look away. “She could be alive today, and maybe the two of you will reconnect somewhere in this world. Perhaps…even fall in love, and marry…just like old times.”

 

Except…

 

“Maybe…” I replied, and instantly I saw Merlin tear his gaze away to look at the lake. I shifted closer to him then, until we were barely flushed against one another. The brush of contact brought his attention to me once more, and he looked a little confused. That’s when I smiled. “But, even if I do meet with her again, I doubt that I will fall in love with her again.” The confusion in Merlin’s face deepened and he shook his head as if to ask what I had meant then. But, I think he knew, because I could see his face turning pink in that same moment. Remember when I said that our relationship had begun its transformation? Well… “Because I’ve already found someone that I’ve fallen in love with.”

 

“Arthur, what do you mean…?”

 

That day was the first time I had kissed Merlin, the only way I felt I could express the fact that I had fallen in love with this man. I remember the hesitation, the initial protest, but Merlin soon melted into that kiss and had kissed me back. I had taken a great risk in trying to read and understand him, and the weight I felt in my chest had completely lifted when I was right in knowing that he reciprocated those feelings. I had no idea for how long he might have held them in, but I was certain it was for much longer than I had harbored them. In Camelot my heart was always with Guinevere, and she still remained a part of my heart to this day. But during those times I loved Merlin on a similar level that only grew deeper from the moment I swallowed my pride and allowed him back into my heart. The moment I stopped blaming him for something he couldn’t control, and realized that he was only trying to help, my love for him returned with such depth that I couldn’t describe nor dare to express. At least, not until that very day where we laughed and cried and kissed each other for all what was worth. It was a relief, a realization, and a rebirth for the two of us.

 

It’s been several years, too much to count at this point. Here I remain recalling my struggles that are still there. Except now I am no longer alone; I never really _was_ alone to begin with, but now I truly felt it. As I watch the man sleep next to me, recalling when he told me of the dragon’s prophecies, I wonder what was meant by when Albion’s need was greatest. But then I think that perhaps, it wasn’t so much Albion’s need, really. I pull up the blankets to cover Merlin’s bare shoulders, and I think that it was Merlin whose needs were greatest. Just as my needs for him, had always been, and continue to be great.

 

Together, Albion has been reborn, within the both of us.


End file.
